


Don't Trust The Chicken

by Silence_burns



Series: No Place Like Here [2]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Gen, Humor, M/M, No Drama, chicken, just a chicken, they are in a relationship together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-15
Updated: 2020-08-01
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:34:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24200650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silence_burns/pseuds/Silence_burns
Summary: Luck is an irreplaceable part of every good adventure. Geralt wishes he had some more often—right until some is brought straight to him.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Reader, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion/Reader, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Reader, Jaskier | Dandelion & Reader, Jaskier | Dandelion/Reader
Series: No Place Like Here [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1729108
Comments: 39
Kudos: 133





	1. Chapter 1

"Behold, the finest village on this side of the river!" Jaskier exclaimed with a wild sweep of his arms. His horse neighed quietly, exhausted by the bard's emotional proclamations every few minutes.

You leaned to the right, trying to see over Jaskier's back. Geralt, riding behind you, did not utter a word.

Behind the final bend in the muddy, well trodden road, made messier by the frequent rain and wheels of carts, there was… something. 

You tried very hard, but it seemed that only a brain of someone used to spewing rhymes and poems every minute of their life was capable of putting into words whatever resided before you. There were some houses, and a few of them even possessed the faint suggestion of a wooden fence. Somewhere in between those should probably lay a road, but no matter how hard you tried, you couldn't see it.

"Do we really have to stop here?" you asked. The house to your right looked as if it would collapse any minute.

"We need supplies," the witcher grunted behind you.

"But there is no inn."

There was, in fact, an inn a little further down the village. It was a fine inn if you closed one eye and squinted the other. There was no door, but who cared about such details?

"We have to stay here for the night." Geralt got off the saddle. "The forest ahead of us is dangerous in the dark."

"But we've got you!"

"And I have you," he reminded you in a tone ending any discussion.

"It's not like we'd make it THAT hard," Jaskier muttered, but was ignored.

Geralt secured the sacks that could stay on Roach, and tied her to the post next to the inn. It consisted of a half-rotten chunk of wood that only needed a solid kick to break, but Roach didn't seem to mind. If she decided to take a little walk, there was little that would stop her anyway.

Geralt entered the inn and was welcomed with an odor that made him stop at the threshold. It took him a moment to recognize it, just as someone called him from inside.

"Blight take me, is that Geralt?" the voice boomed under the low ceiling, a dwarf sliding from his seat.

"Yarek? What are you doing here?" The Witcher took a few more steps, noticing that the tiny, dusty confines of the inn were near empty. With the exception of a company of dwarves cheating at cards, and a man looking like an innkeeper, were he not playing along with them. In the kitchen, divided from the room by a low bar, another two dwarves roasted something suspiciously similar in shape to a dog.

"Come 'ere, sit by the old Yarek. It's been a while."

Geralt would have prefered to sit literally anywhere but this close to the source of the odor, but reluctantly agreed. He tried to breathe as little as possible.

A mug frothing with beer was placed in front of him and a meaty hand clasped his arm in as close to a hug as was possible for a dwarf half his height (even on a stool) to give.

"We've been going south," he explained after a short while. "We had a job at the mines, but the money was not as promised, so we're moving again."

"We're going north," Geralt said. "There's always a job for a Witcher near the mines, especially ones so old."

"Aye. There's plenty o’ stories about some tunnels, and strange things howl on the full moons. But who's 'we' you mention…?"

It was at that moment Geralt's companions chose to enter the tavern. For some reason, Jaskier was riding on your back. Geralt watched his head bang on the frame.

"He still doesn't have shoes," you explained to no one in particular, dropping the bard once you crossed the mud.

Jaskier leaned heavily on the closest surface. "And now I'm missing an eye too…"

Geralt sighed and turned back to his beer. Yarek patted his shoulder. "At least your hair's gray already."

"Don't you need anyone in your company?"

Yarek had a hearty laugh. "You barely have any friends as it is, I'm not taking those few that decided to stick with you."

Jaskier and you took in the smells occupying the inn.

"Geralt, we’re going to find Jaskier some shoes!"

"Yeah, we'll be back for dinner!" Jaskier said before hopping on your back again.

Yarek watched you go. "Couldn't they take a horse?"

"Don't question it. Just let them go."

The dwarf laughed and banged his empty mug on the counter. One of the dwarves watching over the meat filled it. The innkeeper didn't seem to mind. Geralt had a feeling down his gut that it was the first time he had any guests since the snow melted.

"Are you going to stay long?"

Yarek nodded. "My boys and I are tired, we had to leave the horses in the city. They wouldn't make it through the river, not when the locals are using tiny boaties to cross it."

Geralt frowned. He was not happy about the prospect of having to walk over the river. They'd probably have to ride for a few more days and find another village that offered crossing with something bigger than fishermen's boats. He would not leave Roach.

They talked for what seemed like hours, changing topics and recalling their adventures since they last met. It was a good time, and Geralt allowed himself to relax a little. On the road, he had to be wary of anything ranging from bandits to creatures hungry for some human meat. It did not help that his companions had a nasty habit of making his life more complicated.

The sun began to set over the tiny village. Geralt tensed when his medallion twitched suddenly. He turned to the entrance.

"Geralt, look!" He heard the words that always, always indicated some kind of trouble.

Jaskier and you stumbled into the inn, talking over one another and successfully preventing any more words from being understood. You walked strangely, as if your limbs were tangled, and Geralt's golden eyes fell to the—

"Look!"

His beer was swept to the side as you put on the counter… a something.

It was an enormous, feathered beast, and possessed an aura of a thing bracing for a vicious attack.

"It's a lucky chicken!" you half-screamed into the witcher's ear.

"His name is Alberto and he already gave me the shoes!" Jaskier held up his foot, clad in what looked like very nice, very yellow shoes.

Geralt did not take his eyes off the beast. The beast hissed, digging its huge claws into the wooden counter, marring the sanded surface.

"I have no idea what this is," he said slowly. "But I can assure you this is no chicken."

"Oh, come on." Jaskier petted the beast roughly twice the size of a normal chicken. "Just because it's well-fed, doesn't mean it's a monster."

The thing looked like it could attack a horse and feast on its corpse afterwards, or at least it did in the Witcher's eyes. In yours, it seemed, it was a thing meant for warm hugs and putting on your knee like a pet.

The chicken that was not a chicken hissed again and ruffled its feathers, growing even more in size. Geralt could taste its bloodlust, a hair-length away from scratching out his eyes.

"Isn't it adorable?" Jaskier cooed, grateful for the shoes so much that he was blinded by them.

Geralt did not take his eyes from the beast. Yarek muttered something that was either a curse or a prayer.


	2. Chapter 2

The chicken, for reasons unknown to Geralt, had to sleep in their room. 

That was a very bad idea, he said back then, watching the feathered mountain of a beast prowl around the room. His words seemed to hold no meaning, for they were not acknowledged at all. 

And that was precisely how he ended up in that situation.

The night was dark and full of buzzing insects, thirsty for some fresh blood. The summer was merciful, and even though the days were bone-melting in their heat, the nights were spared and allowed the parched earth to rest. It was still rather warm, but in the comfortable way that only called for a thin blanket thrown over resting bodies, two of which were currently pressed into Geralt from both sides. Whatever they were dreaming of, it must’ve been pleasant, for the only noises coming from them were soft, muffled sounds of a person content.

Geralt was not asleep. Neither was the chicken. 

The beast took a liking to the thin bar of the windowsill, and perched on it like a nightmare unleashed. The sparse moonlight illuminated its massive form, casting a deep shadow that stretched maliciously, way further than it should. Only the eyes were visible, reflecting yellowish gold as light hit the pupils. They were focused on Geralt, and utterly unmoving in their hatred. 

“When I cut your head off,” the Witcher whispered into the night, “I’ll give your corpse to Yarek’s men to cook." 

A fly buzzed, hitting the invisible wall of the window. The chicken moved faster than anything good and pure in this world. The fly buzzed no more. 

The Witcher and the beast in chicken feathers continued to stare until the first morning light came and hit your sleeping face. 

You winced, alerted by light and stirred until you fully awakened at last. Jaskier dug himself further into Geralt’s arm, pulling the blanket over his eyes. You watched him for a peaceful moment before turning your head to the Witcher. 

"You look awful,” you frowned. 

“Thank you.”

“Have you slept at all? Is everything okay?" 

"Of course." 

He watched you stand and dress up. The air still held the tiniest bit of night chill. Geralt’s eyes fell on a pair of bright yellow shoes Jaskier abandoned by the wall. 

"Where did you get them?" 

You followed his gaze. 

"In the bushes. The chicken led us.”

“How did you find the… chicken?" 

You laughed, tightening your sword belt. "It was walking about Geralt, just like chickens do. There’s nothing suspicious about that." 

"Was it in the village?” Geralt slipped Jaskier off him and sat up, sheathing the dagger he hid under the cushion in the evening. 

“On the outskirts, but you’ve seen the state of those fences. It’s a wonder they still have any animals left." 

"Hmm." 

The breakfast Yarek’s men prepared did not differ much from the dinner the day before, but no one protested. The meat held a strange flavor that Geralt did his best not to dwell upon, thankful for rich seasoning. 

They ate, enjoying the merry company, and relishing those moments before they had to part ways again. There was a time where Geralt almost forgot about the chicken. 

But it came to him later on, when the bones were stripped and beer bulged their stomachs. The sun rose high and ushered their inevitable departure. There was little Geralt and his companions possessed, so it took only a few moments to gather their few belongings before walking to the horses. 

There sat the chicken, busy with gulping down what was likely to be a rat. A thin tail disappeared into the blackish, sturdy beak. Geralt could’ve sworn that there was something unnervingly close to cold contempt in its eyes. 

"We should rent it out to help with the rats infesting the inns we pass through.” Jaskier beamed like a proud parent. 

“The chicken stays here,” the Witcher grumbled from the high of his horse, riding out of the stable. 

“I’m afraid it’s not aware of that." 

He frowned at your words and looked back. 

There was the beast, creeping behind the horses, its long legs allowing a surprisingly fast strut. It didn’t take its eyes off the Witcher. Those were two nasty, very focused eyes. 

Geralt cursed. He was very inclined to hurry Roach up, but the road ahead was long, and there was no point in exhausting the horses so early on, especially before the hottest hours of the day. 

The village came to an end after only a few moments. Geralt turned to you. "Where did you find the chicken?" 

"You jealous? Want to find yourself some luck too?” you grinned as Jaskier struck a few very irritating tunes on the lute. 

“He could use some. Just look at him,” the bard added in a dramatic whisper. “It was just around those bushes." 

The bushes were full of thorns, as Geralt noticed, and ran in a long patch into the forest. It wasn’t unusual, as the earth was dry there and could barely sustain anything greener. Geralt had no idea where the chicken came from, or what it was doing there. Whatever answers he had hoped to find, he was confronted with even more questions as he noticed the tracks further down the road. 

It was difficult to say who they belonged to, but his best guess was some poor soul from the village, probably poking around the bushes in hopes to find some wild berries not yet spotted by the others. 

There were no berries as far as Geralt could see. There were, although, a lot of broken branches and a few strips of fabric hanging from the thorns in the deeper part of the bushes. Standing in the stirrups, Geralt could see how far the bushes went on before they disappeared into the thicket of the forest they had yet to enter. He couldn’t see any more signs of someone’s unlucky end, and had no intention to cleave through the entangled mass of needles to find some. 

Except for a pair of shoes, that Geralt could almost see laying in the bushes nearby. He closed his eyes. 

"Let me make this clear,” he said quietly. “So you see a pair of shoes just laying there, and not for one moment think that whoever the previous owner was, they, under normal circumstances, wouldn’t just leave them there?" 

There was no understanding in your eyes. Jaskier shrugged. 

"Have you maybe considered that something might’ve crawled out of the forest and consumed that unlucky individual?" 

There was no simpler way to put it. Even Roach knew what was going on, and eyed the facade of the forest with cold apprehension. 

"Well, at least it left the shoes,” Jaskier said, moving his horse into a lazy trot again. The chicken followed. 

“It’s not like you believe the chicken was what ate the man, right?” you laughed before joining the bard. 

The Witcher was left behind, watching the figures enter the forest, swallowed by the deep shadows of the old trees. There was a certain silence hanging low in the air, as if the forest was holding its breath, waiting for whatever came there, to pass. 

Geralt eyed the chicken, barely visible in the mass of bushes. It wasn’t scared of the forest, or of the unnatural, tense silence. 

He did not trust it one bit. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really hope you enjoyed the chapter! I know not many people are interested in this series, but it brings a smile to my face when I write it, and I hope it helped someone else too!


	3. Chapter 3

The night crept on silent paws, following them for a while before pouncing. 

The darkness enveloped the forest that seemed to stretch for way farther than should be possible according to maps.

Maps were a handy thing, Jaskier thought, finishing up dinner. It had been heated over the small fire Geralt constructed a while ago, after an excessive amount of pleading. Maps could show you your place in the world, as well as put a shape to the various borders ever-present in the world. Maps show you the nation’s borders, the terrain structure, and with a tiny bit of luck, also the most dangerous parts of said world. Some maps were more detailed in the matter than others. None, though, that Jaskier had laid eyes on had mentioned anything prone to crawling in the shifting darkness with eyes flashing six feet off the ground, reflecting what light the fire still cast. 

It was an interesting thing, and often very unfortunate, that no maps were capable of fully grasping the territories that had been so unlucky to be infested with what could only be called, especially during the night, as monsters. Jaskier wished to be lucky enough one day to obtain a map with a handy little warning sign wherever something was prone to eat him in the nearest future. It would be a handy little gadget, and one definitely worthy of dreaming over during the monster-infested night hours. 

“I think it’s a bear,” he said to no one in particular, which usually meant that he’d keep talking until someone answered him. “Just a very large bear." 

"I really don’t think bears leave those sort of marks,” you said, trying to stare at the darkness inconspicuously. You didn’t like the darkness staring back. 

Geralt stayed silent, but his sword laid on his knees, ready to do what swords are best at. 

Roach and the other horses were staying close too, not really tied to any of the nearby trees, but not straying away from the camp either. It was as if the animals could sense whatever had been circling them for over an hour now was hungry. 

Geralt was annoyed by how difficult it made things for them. The horses should properly rest overnight, and eat their share of whatever grass was able to sprout from the needle-covered earth. They stayed alert, though, and stayed close to the camp, which meant their bodies blocked a good share of the view around. The witcher shifted.

“I’m pretty sure it thinks we’re herding livestock,” the witcher said at last, throwing an unwelcome glare at the chicken, perched on one of the fallen branches. “It would probably go away if we—" 

"We are NOT sacrificing Alberto!” Jaskier said with surprising might, crawling a little closer to the mountain of feathers as if to shield it with his own body. The beast hissed quietly like a viper, but didn’t strike him. Yet. 

Geralt sighed. Roach agreed, stomping her hoove into the dry ground a little to the left. Their uneasiness was largely ignored, though, because Roach was a horse, and because Geralt was in the minority of not believing the luck of Alberto the beast. 

Geralt was indeed unsure of whether the beast was a chicken, and even more puzzled about the origins of its name. As for the luck part, Geralt’s life certainly didn’t take a turn for the better in the past few days, so it was a disputable peculiarity. It was a shame there was no one except for Roach to discuss it with. 

The witcher kept an eye on the prowling darkness, and thanks to his heightened senses, was able to see much more than the humans he traveled with. 

Of one thing he was certain: Whatever followed them since sunset was most definitely not a bear. 

It kept to the thicket and bushes, and stayed hidden for the most part of their journey. If one was not mindful of their surroundings, they might not even notice the huge shape, just a shade darker than night, moving on silent paws at the edge of one’s vision. 

Geralt was very mindful. And just as annoyed. 

“Oh, just stop with the brooding already,” Jaskier snapped after a while of tense silence. “I won’t be able to sleep with you oozing that… whatever it is under the sweat." 

Despite that, Jaskier found himself sleeping like a baby not five minutes later, with his cheek pressed into the ruffled feathers of the beast’s backside. The beast didn’t seem to mind. All it was focused on was the darkness. 

"I swear, if this thing rushes off and attacks whatever is following us, I’m going to cook it over the fire and feed it to both of you myself,” Geralt stated, very clearly, and with a lot of intent. 

You sighed. “That’s fair, I guess. I don’t think it’ll come to that, though." 

"I don’t care. Tomorrow we find a place to cross the river. Maybe whatever is following us will lose tracks." 

"From what I remember, there’s no place suitable for crossing for the next two days,” you said. “That’s why we need to head to the next village." 

"With enough luck, maybe we’ll find a spot. The summer is hot, water might be lower than usual." 

The witcher had no idea how prophetic his word would prove to be in the next day. With enough luck, and a chicken, they found just the spot. 

"I told you~!” Jaskier sung merrily, holding the beast in his arms that could barely close around its massive form. “It was not tangled in the bushes, it was showing us the way!" 

Geralt looked at the narrow stream, just shallow enough to cross with the horses safely. A tree had fallen in it recently, and the branches partially submerged under the water were still green. 

"How lucky of us,” you smirked at the witcher. “If not for the chicken, we would’ve missed it." 

Geralt stayed silent, but the crease between his brows deepened significantly at your words. It wasn’t luck, and, what was most important, it was most definitely not a chicken. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really hope you liked it as much as I did, haha. Please, please leave a comment if you did!


	4. Chapter 4

Geralt believed in few things. Belief was, in general, not something overly encouraged during the training of young not-yet-witchers. The ways of steel and blood were much more favored among the teachers, and Geralt had spent enough years living by their word not to question things openly. There was no room for belief in a witcher's life. Things either were or were not. 

Still, Geralt couldn't help but believe himself to be a man of simple pleasures, one of which, and by far the greatest, was the power of sleep, silence, and an average amount of comfort only a bed could offer, applied over the course of a few hours. It did wonders not only to one's mood, but to their general well-being. 

Geralt needed it. But Geralt was not to be granted rest. 

Geralt's life, as always, got overly complicated the moment Jaskier and you arrived, almost knocking the door to his room off its hinges, and leaving mud all over the floor. 

"Alberto’s lost!" Jaskier screamed into the witcher's ear with all the might of his trained voice. 

"He was hunting some mice and ran off to the woods and we can't find him!" Your elbows dug into Geralt's chest, but he still refused to leave the comfort of his bed. 

"Good riddance," he said instead. He meant it. 

The old bed squeaked when two bodies fell on it and knocked Geralt's breath away. He was forced to finally open his eyes, if only to stare from very up close at his companion's faces. 

"Geralt, please," you pouted. "You're the only one who can find him." 

"He's just a little chicken, lost in the woods, completely vulnerable to wild animals," Jaskier added, playing with Geralt's hair. 

Geralt sighed. 

"I was able to lay down on an actual bed for the first time in a week, and it lasted for only 15 minutes. Why are you always doing this to me?" 

"Oh, no, no. Don't you forget that you were only granted this bed because of the luck Alberto gave you." 

Geralt sighed again. He didn't want to have that discussion again. He still stood firm that there was no luck to be found in whatever creature Alberto actually was. 

His arguments did not change even when they had arrived at the village a few hours ago, and when Alberto wandered off to a seemingly random building before they managed to stop him. And there was no luck in finding the last spare room for renting in that same building. 

There was no such thing as a lucky chicken. And now that there was no longer a chicken, things should get easier. 

Geralt, as often lately, was wrong. 

He heaved his tense body off the bed with a moan of struggling muscles. Rest was a blessing that no one wanted to grant him.

"It's getting dark. If we don't find that thing before night, I'm calling this off," Geralt warned, and was thanked by two pairs of arms wrapped around his midriff. 

"You're the best," you kissed his right cheek. 

"I knew you didn't hate Alberto that much," Jaskier kissed his left one. 

Geralt wasn't so sure about that, but he stayed silent. 

He was still silent when he strapped his sword on his back, and his silence continued as he followed the road leading to the forest. Geralt was silent when he dropped to a knee to check the fresh marks in the mud. 

But that didn't mean his companions followed his example. 

"Could you please shut up?" he finally snapped. 

The forest was dense, and the canopy stretched far over your heads in a thick blanket hiding most of the sun. The evening colored the trees orange, with deep reds shimmering here and there. 

Only when his companions finally ceased their chatter did Geralt realise how silent it actually was. 

His hand reached for his blade. 

Your eyes darted behind his back. "There's his feather!" 

There was nothing silent in your rush, or Jaskier's that followed half a second later. Geralt watched with a sense of detachment as two pairs of knees dropped to the ground, effectively smudging any and all tracks that might've been there. 

Lovely. 

Geralt looked around, trying to judge the passage of time by the light that was slowly getting weaker. They had to venture quite deep into the forest, following the meandering tracks of the pet. The witcher wouldn't be sad if they lost it, but unfortunately, another feather was soon found not far away. 

Geralt followed Jaskier and you to a small ravine, hidden in the bushes. The leaves were thick and plumpy, and packed so close together that they almost completely hid the treacherous ground and small rocks on the edge of a drop. 

Carefully, Geralt pushed the springy branches to the side and-

"Alberto!" 

Before he managed to stop Jaskier, the bard squeezed himself into the hole. On the very edge of the ravine, sitting on the dry roots sticking out of where the ground used to be, was Alberto. Lucky for him, the ground didn't drop when the bard stumbled there and gathered the chicken in his arms. He brought him back to safety with the biggest grin on his face. 

The chicken didn't look happy having Jaskier rub his face into the feathers. If anything, the chicken's attention seemed focused entirely on the ravine. 

Geralt frowned. 

And slowly turned back to the ravine. 

There it was, almost hidden among the stones and roots of the bushes that had long since fallen into the drop several feet deep. The ground there was dark and covered in shadows and moss in places where the light couldn't reach even during the day. 

And there, among the shadows, shined a pair of eyes. Big eyes. 

"Leave. The chicken. There." The witcher growled between clenched teeth, not moving his eyes from the target. 

You froze hearing the tension in his voice. Your smile faltered as you saw what Geralt already noticed. 

"Jaskier," you whispered. "I think that's actually a good idea." 

Jaskier, who for a few minutes was the happiest man alive, thought you must've lost your mind, or maybe were playing some trick on him with Geralt. It wouldn't be the first time when your jokes were almost indistinguishable from the truth, so Jaskier wasn't alarmed at first. Neither was he at second. 

Then he followed Alberto's gaze. And swallowed. 

The shadows of the ravine were deep and hard to discern. A lot of things had fallen in there over the years, and as the bushes covered the edge, some animals must've missed it and fell to their unexpected deaths. Their bones were yellowed among the stones and branches and leaves the wind had left there, piling them up over the thick mud. 

The eyes that shone among them were the first thing Jaskier noticed. What he thought were leaves moved a little, forming a large, feathered body that blended in with the shadows and mud almost perfectly. The clawed legs were perfectly capable of leaving the traces they'd seen around the camp for the past week. 

"What the hell is that? A basilisk?" Jaskier squealed, holding onto Alberto for dear life. 

"It's not a basilisk," Geralt whispered, angling his sword. "And not something that I've ever encountered before, but one thing is certain - that is not a chicken and neither is Alberto." 

"I think this is Alberto's mom," you elbowed Jaskier. "Give her back her child." 

"Over my dead body! You've got no idea if it's actually true!" 

The beast prowled a little closer, hiding in the thick shadows obscuring the edges of its huge, bulky body. The closer it drew, the bigger it looked. The huge, hooked beak was a rusty, dark shade of old blood. 

Geralt was breathing very slowly. He did not turn from the pair of unblinking eyes of the beast. "Jaskier, once we're back in the tavern, I'm gonna break your lute into sharp, tiny pieces and fit them all, one by one, into your stupid, stubborn arse if you don't-" 

"Okay, okay, alright … " 

The bard sighed. Even though his pulse was rapid, and his hands shook, he was still reluctant to put the chicken down into the mossy ground. The weeks spent in its presence flashed before his eyes, making them suspiciously wet. 

"Goodbye, Alberto," he sobbed into the thick, brownish feathers. "Thank you so much for the shoes." 

"Bye, chicken," you waved the beast goodbye as it, at long last, left Jaskier's arms and walked over to the edge of the ravine. 

The look it gave Geralt was anything but warm, but you could've sworn that when it turned back to look at the bard one last time, there was no malice in its eyes. And then it was gone, reunited with the bulky shadow of its friend, or mother, or whatever the other creature was. It didn't matter, because they looked happy together as they crawled back into the depths of the forest without making a sound. 

"That was sweet," you brushed the tear away from your eye. 

Jaskier was weeping openly. Geralt finally sheathed his sword. The slap on the back of the bard's head was loud in the forest's silence. 

"That was the last time you get a pet. From now on, you're not even getting close to any chicken, cow, cat, or a horse. If I see you feeding even a tiny little mouse, I'm gonna tie you up to Roach and lead her behind me until you get your brain back."

The bard snorted through his tears. "Who cares about the brain, if my heart has been shattered to a million pieces? You can't even grasp the depth of my grief! To be parted with such a mighty companion is a despair you won't ever-" 

"Don't you even think of making a ballad out of that!" 

"YOU CAN'T STOP ART!" 

You smiled, watching the two of them banter on their way back to the village. The sun was almost gone by then, and only the thinnest rays of light illuminated the trees. You looked at the stray, brownish feather in your hand and put it into your pocket. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry it took me so long to finally update and close this story. I hope you enjoyed it and will be left with pleasant memories :)

**Author's Note:**

> I really hope you will enjoy this series!! Please tell me what do you think of it!
> 
> You can find me on AO3 or on silence-burns.tumblr.com


End file.
